He watched as the Malpais Legate was forced to his knees, the greatest of the Legion, a failure.
Joshua Graham looked fearlessly up to their Caesar. "My Caesar."
He had seen the legate dive into a pit of deathclaws and stood face-to-face with the NCR's most formidable rangers time and again. Never with fear.
And as the praetorian brought the steaming bucket of tar that stunk of prewar tires, there was still no fear.
Perhaps it was anger.
It was not the same anger he had seen when the legate murdered his tribe's chieftan when he was a child. This was not the anger that served Caesar well for decades.
This felt tainted, with something Vulpes had never seen in the Malpais Legate.
It was rare to see any expression on a legionaire's face that wasn't rooted with rage.
"Failure," Caesar stood at the edge of the cliff, watching the deep orange sunset, "must be punished. Regardless of rank."
"You must do what must be done, Edward."
Hearing him speak to Caesar so casually felt sinful. There had been a distinct shuffle among the onlookers, men looking sour at the forsaken legate for being so daring.
But Caesar, in a rare moment of grace, did not mind. "Any last words, Joshua?"
Finally, Vulpes Inculta understood what emotion Joshua Graham had been feeling. Not fear. Not anger.
Regret.
"May God forgive us all."
Caesar looked displeased. "The son of Mars detests weakness, which you have brought upon the Legion. Mars shall purify your sins as he purified the planet with fire. You will find your forgiveness in the flame."
The praetorian poured the thick black syrup over the legate's head. The sound of skin hissing and the groan of agony made some of the younger legionnaires squirm.
Vulpes kept his eyes trained to the man who looked horrifying in pitch with flesh smoking. He had served the Legion for over thirty years, faithfully. He had been with Caesar since the very beginning.
But now, disgraced, that loyalty had been disregarded. Caesar, above all his codes and laws, ultimately established his one rule he would prioritize over all.
Failure, regardless of loyalty, was the worst sin his slaves could ever make.
The torch with its yellow fire touched Graham's shoulder and he whooshed into a burning man. Black silhouette with light and searing hot energy cooking him.
The smell of cooked meat made Vulpes' stomach growl. It would have disturbed him more if he had eaten that day.
The Battle at Hoover Dam had been arduous. Days standing and waiting for orders had weakened the strength of their armies, which had contributed to their failure.
As the Malpais Legate burned, Vulpes wondered what could have been done to avoid this.
Boulder City had been the turning point. Those profligates had been desperate, and knowing their lives were already lost, they had sacrificed themselves to severely cripple the Legion's defenses. Not many of their greatest fighters stood with them to observe the immolation of the Malpais.
They were rotting pieces of flesh, spread about the desert like tumbleweeds.
The Legion should have gathered more knowledge of their enemy. They should have had some of their own infiltrate their highest ranks. The Frumentarii, too, had failed. But only Graham was punished.
Joshua Graham slowly got to his feet and stumbled backwards, closer to the ravine. Each step was a crunch followed by the thick and dry gasps of the dying man. All were standing at the edge of the earth, as though to banish a demon from their kingdom.
Little ceremony was conducted. The praetorian simply kicked the flaming figure in the chest, sending Joshua Graham flying.
She, too, had been simply tossed over the side like worthless scrap, forever lost to the world.
Many went to look over the side as the sun finally snuffed out. The weak glow of Graham remained, becoming dimmer as he continued to fall. Even Caesar watched until the shrinking light of the legate eventually faded like a twinkling star.
"Hear me, Legion," Caesar's voice boomed, "on this day none shall speak the name Joshua Graham, on penalty of death. The Malpais Legate shall be wiped from history and forgotten."
"True to Caesar," the crowd shouted in unison before returning to camp to lick their wounds.